


The Golden Age of Wireless

by orphan_account



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Nerds and Jocks gone wild gone sexual, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pining, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jacob is the university's star basketball player. Kevin is the not-so-innocent sports photographer for the school paper.What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Bae Joonyoung | Jacob/Moon Hyungseo | Kevin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my serialised Moonbae bullshit wassup.
> 
> Trigger warning for dubious morals i.e. Kevin being a creepshot photographer. Also, there's gonna be sex this time. Have fun.

_He’s the star player; he’s the most important one. That’s why I take so many._

That’s what Kevin has planned, if anyone ever asks for an explanation.

He took pictures of the other members, too. Cursory ones. He only learned their names out of obligation, for the sake of the sports section. Shit, he didn’t even want to be a sports photographer - he was harangued into it; with ‘sports photography is _hard_ , and you’re the best photographer here’ - and Kevin is too nice for his own good.

He quickly realised the upside of the job, when he found out who the star player for the basketball team was.

He took a few, long court shorts. Action shots of other players. The obligatory picture of the opponents.

But there was always one recurring character in his reel. One person who torrented his entire output. 30 shots a match.

_Jacob._

He had a tiny crush on Jacob, the same way every dweeby gay boy in the college had a crush on Jacob. He never had an excuse to watch him play though. He wouldn’t be able to convince a paper bag that he was interested in sports.

But now? Thanks to the newspaper? He gets to live out the dream of every gay at the college; under the veneer of being a _reporter_. He got to drool over Jacob’s firm legs, big ass, and tight, muscled arms, without looking like the pervert he is. And he got to do it all while taking pictures.

He’d take 2-3 pictures of him - always the best of the lot - to the newspaper, along with his shots of the other randoms.

What he does with the rest of the pictures?

That’s none of your _business_ , thank you very much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worth noting that this exists in the same universe as [Come On (Cheer Me On)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559828). You don't need to read it for context, since that fic was just blatant porn, but y'know. Just so you know.

“There’s a girl’s badminton match you need to be at tomorrow,” Chanhee reels off from a sticky note, towards a disinterested office room, “a soccer match between the junior teams on Wednesday… oh yeah, and _loverboy_ has a basketball game on Friday that you can perv over.”

A few heads in the office turn up to look at Kevin. They laugh, the sound slicing through Kevin’s brain. Kevin blushes. He balls up one of his notebook pages and hurls it towards Chanhee.

Chanhee dodges it, shining a smug smile back to Kevin.

Kevin’s face turns beetroot.

“Nice aim. Maybe don’t try and impress him with your basketball skills, hm?”

“Fuck off,” Kevin mumbles, returning to his notes.

Kevin can see the way Chanhee crosses his arms from under his brows, his plastic nose high in the air.

“What was that?” Chanhee asks.

No-one's laughing anymore. Kevin looks up, eyes heated.

“I said shut up, I can’t hear you through all that dick in your fucking mouth.”

Chanhee slams his hands down on the table. Everyone jumps. “At least I’m actually _getting_ some dick, you nerdy creepy -”

“Ladies, ladies,” Juyeon says from the side, waving his hand like a meditator, “stop fighting, I have plenty of dick to go around.”

Chanhee snorts. “Yeah, all 4 inches of it.”

“Hey, those 4 inches were enough to make you squeal like a piggy last night.”

Chanhee slumps in his chair, muttering under his breath.

Kevin stifles a laugh, burying his head back in his notepad. He scribbles notes about the upcoming games in the margins.

Mindlessly, he doodles some black hearts around the word ‘basketball’, before realising what he’s doing. He admonishes himself, scratching them out with blotted ink. He glances up, hoping no-one’s seen them. 

“It’s not like Kevin wants your dick anyway,” Chanhee says, voice doubly snooty to make up for earlier, “he’s too preoccupied with scrolling through _golden ball’s_ IG when he thinks we’re not looking.”

“That was _one_ time,” Kevin snaps, pushing his glasses further up his nose, pen digging into his paper.

Chanhee turns his chair away from Juyeon and looks back at Kevin, between their flood of laptops and notepads. His sneer is palpable from his eyes alone. Kevin shuffles his feet underneath his desk, feeling awkward.

“Hey, when you’re at the soccer game, can you employ your _talent_ to procure me some pictures of Sunwoo’s ass? I need new jerk-off material.”

Juyeon interjects - “I thought you two were already fucking?”

“Yeah, but his dick pics suck, and not in the way they should,” Chanhee says.

Kevin hums. Jots down _Article Idea: The Art of Taking a Dick Pic._

“I’ll see what I can do,” Kevin says, bored.

“Cool.”

The room fades back into a rubble of typing, pencil scratching and muttering; discomfort still vibrating hot and heavy between the desks.

No-one wanted to be here, but they had to be. It’s Saturday. The paper had to be out by Monday


	3. Chapter 3

“D’you ever read the student paper?” Sangyeon asks, forcing a fistful of fries into his mouth.

Jacob looks up from his paltry lunch - chicken breast and sad, soggy spinach leaves - and gazes longingly at the salty fries dangling out of Sangyeon’s mouth.

“No,” he half-shouts over the lunch-time rabble, “Why? Anything interesting?”

Jacob plops a bundle of leaves into his mouth and chews around it, the spinach balling up into cud in his mouth. He glances over to where Sangyeon has the paper spread out, next to his lunch tray.

 _Toronto Timez_ , in 24pt Times New Roman. Jacob always laughed at the stupid title when he walked past it, but he’d never bothered to pick it up. Jacob doesn’t read, because reading is for losers.

“Dunno how they get away with publishing half of this shit,” Sangyeon mumbles through his fries, turning the grease-stained paper to Jacob.

It’s a full-page spread, near the front-end of the newspaper.

**The Art of the Dick Pic**

_by Kevin Moon_

Are Your Action Shots Lack-lust-re? A 10 Step Guide to Taking Better Nudes for Your Lover

Jacob snorts. “What?”

“It’s decent advice too,” Sangyeon says, finishing off his fries and picking up his chicken burger.

Jacob’s stomach whines in envy. He shuts it up with a bite of unseasoned chicken, and turns back to the article.

He reads through it, his deflated stomach slowly forgotten. Ten titbits of decent dick-pic guidance, complete with example pics of some bespectacled nerd holding a Pringles can to his jeans.

Jacob sits, absorbed for 5 minutes, feeling immensely berated over his current nudes-taking technique. When he finishes it, he finishes with a certain sense of shame, and a revitalised urge to wander off to the bathroom with his iPhone.

“Wow,” he says, looking back at Sangyeon, who has a tomato hanging out of his mouth, “this guy knows a lot about dicks.”

“Mmmphm,” Sangyeon says, ever eloquent.

Jacob flips through the rest of the newspaper, seeing if there’s anything as eye-opening as the dick pic article. He’s assaulted with a barrage of celebrity gossip, cheap fashion tips, and _how to not kill yourself during exam season_ guides. He sighs. Turns the newspaper to where the sports section should be.

Jacob gasps, plastic fork clattering against his plastic lunch tray.

“Mmmph?” Sangyeon says, looking up from his burger.

He _hmm’s_ in agreement, when he sees what Jacob is looking at.

It’s a full-page spread on last week’s game.

In the top left corner, in vivid CMYK, is him.

Jacob remembers it. It’s an action shot of him, seconds before scoring the winning shot. He’s half-feet in the air - arms outstretched, eyes hungry on the hoop, that was out of shot. His muscles were pulled, taut; he was statuesque, something like a Rubin’s carving. Something about the way the shadows are beating around his figure makes Jacob feel like he’s not looking at himself: he’s looking at a glorified rendering instead. 

It looked like an NBA shot.

He looks at Sangyeon. 

Sangyeon chews his final bit of burger and points towards it.

“Check who took the picture.”

Jacob furrows his eyebrows, before returning to squint at the fine print.

He barely deciphers the name next to the tiny © symbol, but he manages. Jacob’s heart twists.

“You mean…?” Jacob starts.

“Mhm.”

He recalls the dweeb in the dick pic article, and his body sags in the plastic seat behind him.

“That… that’s the nerd at all the matches, isn’t it? With the camera?”

“Yup,” Sangyeon says, “he takes a lot of pictures of you.”

“Oh…”

Jacob pushes the paper away. Silent, he chews on the rest of his chicken, until the class bell draws him out of his sombre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weekly updates btw*
> 
> *don't hold me to this, because I will fail you.


	4. Chapter 4

The cheerleaders do their final pose. Chanhee waves proud towards Kevin, pom-pom’s and all, from the top of the pyramid.

A few girls beneath him peer up his skirt and giggle. Chanhee farts.

The pyramid quickly disassembles itself.

Kevin sighs. Readjusts his settings.

The cheerleaders did nothing for Kevin; not even the odd male anomaly in the team, and their photos rarely got published. But he took them anyway. It helped him adjust his camera settings for the main event.

That, and Chanhee loved having profile pictures of him in a skirt, so it was mutually beneficial. 

The cheer team dispenses, and the college auditorium flares in noise. The place was unusually packed - it was against a bigger Toronto team, and their fans were unusually patriotic. His half of the room was sparse; the opposing half was crammed, college scarfs waving abound. 

It was Friday afternoon. The day of the basketball game. Kevin had been looking forward to it all week, despite his protests against his fellow newspaper committee members. 

It was the best part of Kevin’s every 2 weeks. He got to drool over his favourite player, take all sorts of seedy close-ups of anything he could point his lens at, and when the arena finally cleared, he’d run off to his dorm and tug one out. Like clockwork. He could go 2 or 3 rounds a night. He usually had a spare nut for him in the morning, too.

Through the rest of the week, he had all his other photos of Jacob to satiate him. The occasional torrented jock Sean Cody scene, the shirtless stories on Jacob’s Instagram (shut  _ up _ , Chanhee). But nothing trumped having a fresh batch of pictures to jack it to.

The crowd grows restless behind him. He waits, prodding through camera setting with quiet, thrumming anticipation, that only vaguely differentiated to that of the sports-goers around him.

He’s not sure if their excitement made a warm, fuzzy glow flood towards their upper thighs, but maybe it did. The inner mechanisms of a sports fan is all Greek to Kevin.

The announcer cuts through the rabble, announcing the teams. Kevin fumbles for his notepad, making sure he can jot down scores and gameplay.

He rests his notepad on his lap - for reasons other than note-taking convenience - and swings his camera strap around his neck, lens pointed towards the ‘Home’ entrance. 

He waits with bated breath, as the announcer calls them out. Taps his toes. Fidgets in his seat. 

They dispel out the tunnel like a swarm of sweaty ants. Kevin watches through his camera, muscle memory snapping a few pictures out of habit. Someone in the team waves. He takes a picture of them, throwing a thumbs up to disguise his nonchalance.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, impatient. Takes a few more pictures. His golden boy was usually first on the pitch. Most of the team was out, now. Where  _ was  _ he?

He huffs and looks down at his lap, before looking back up.

Kevin blinks through the viewfinder.

Drops the camera.

It swings from the strap and lands straight on his notepad, hammering into his balls.

He’s looking at him.

Eyes boring straight into his.

Kevin fumbles with the camera, wincing from the pain in his nuts. He clasps the camera with his clammy palms. Takes a picture. And another. Pretends he’s doing his job.

Jacob, who was finally moving his way to the line-up, keeps his gaze steady on him. Kevin swallows. Sweat breaks out his face in short eruptions, and he wonders if he can ascribe it to the heat in the room. 

Jacob’s face is unreadable, lips tight in concealment. His look was sharp, unwavering, bypassing the lenses. Heat beats around Kevin’s cheeks, avoiding his sight. He makes an effort of taking pictures of anything else; the other team, the fans, the staff, his own shoes. But something stayed heavy on him. When he swung his camera to his team, there was one person watching his every move. Kevin wriggles his shoes in his mismatched socks, uncomfortable.

Kevin waves towards him. A tiny wiggle of fingers. Feels incredibly stupid doing so.

Jacob purses his lips and turns away, to the sound of the announcer starting the game.

Kevin tries to keep up with the game. Clicks his camera. Scribbles notes. Ignores how the pen pressing on the notepad feels against his crotch.

But he’s thrown. The pictures aren’t good. He knows they aren’t. He doesn’t try for any of his usual shots - zoom thrust forward, HD shots of thighs and asses. Whenever the thought crosses his mind, his subject flickers his eyes upward, and Kevin’s heart lunges into his throat all over again.

The scores whir past in a blur. Kevin’s notes are slapdash, incomprehensible gibberish. There’s a swelling in his trousers he won’t acknowledge - a swelling that gets worse with every glance from the court to him.

There’s a world of distance between them. They wouldn’t be able to hear a shout between each other. But when Jacob looks - and he looks often - Kevin feels, no,  _ knows _ that there’s something that he knows. That he can see through the lens into his brain, and all his disgusting, dirty thoughts. Kevin counts down the minutes.

Ignores how  _ watched  _ he feels.

Is this karma?

The whistle signals for the end of the match. No penalties; not that anything in Kevin’s notes would indicate that. The longest and shortest 90 minutes of his life. They've won, if the resounding boos meananything. When it ends, Kevin drops his camera to his lap, and slumps in his chair. 

His hard-on is gone now, but the blood in his body is still thrumming in his veins, warming him from the core out.

He closes his eyes for a bit. Listens to the sound of the audience filtering out. The echo of the players funnelling back to the tunnels, into their changing rooms.

Wonders how he’s going to explain his terrible pictures to the newspaper.

He heaves a heavy sigh. He opens his eyes, body decidedly cooler.

He looks above him, to the stadium lights.

Floats his eyes downwards.

His blood seers. Again.

The court has emptied out, but there’s still one figure there. In the not-so-distant distance.

Jacob.

Looking at him.

When he meets his eyes, Jacob raises his eyebrows.

Points his thumb towards the tunnel.

Kevin’s face twists in confusion, all his blood flowing south again.

Jacob’s body sighs - a thousand metres away from him, but yet so,  _ so  _ close. Nudges his head towards the tunnel. Walks towards it.

Turns back, as his shadow meets the entrance.

Looks Kevin in the eyes.

Mouths  _ c’mon _ .

Disappears.

Kevin grasps his camera and notebook, and guesses his way towards the pitch.


End file.
